Stay With Me
by XxDamned ForeverXx
Summary: When Arthur and his brothers are pulled into the world of his stories he faces pirates, mermaids, indians, unruly children, and an insufferable flying boy named Alfred who never ages. UsUk/Rus Peter Pan
1. All little boys must grow up

Arthur let a large smirk cross his face as he devilishly tipped his black pirate hat up to reveal his emerald eyes and shaggy blonde hair to his older brother. Allistor, decked in a Scottish uniform he 'borrowed' from his dad, confronted the pirate with a proudly brandished wooden sword. His red hair was messy and unkempt from the battle so far. Then the littlest one, who was only ten years of age, Cailean, hid under the bed with a toy pistol aimed at the pirate. It seemed the captain was cornered and out gunned- seeing as how he was only armed with a rusty piece of metal piping for a hand and backed into the window. But Arthur was the dreaded pirate that was captain of the most notorious ship in all the seven seas, this was nothing to him. He was fearless. He was mad. He was rotten to the core. Such a deadly combination Captain Pipe possessed that could only be contested by the pure naivety of an innocent child like the one facing him now.

"Jones," Arthur spat out excitedly in an over done barbarous tone. "You have not won this round. This night will be mine yet." A wicked grin crossed his face as his thick southern English accent returned. "For you see, Captain Pipe had a terrible trap waiting. He had lured Alfred Jones into the Black Castle with a plan. Above their heads lay something so vile, so unutterably _evil _which not even the great hero himself could stand a chance against." he recited from the numerous stories in his head. Snippets of the great adventures children had with wild savages and bloodthirsty pirates.

Cailean crawled out further to ask the burning question as Allistor stared down his opponent, staying in character as Jones to keep up the suspenseful mood."What was above them, Artie?" he queried in his pre-pubescent voice. Such guiltless curiosity.

Instead of answering right away, Arthur turned away from them and stood stagnant for many moments. The air was tense around them. Allistor was about to attack to keep the damn story going when Arthur spoke in a severely soft voice. "Jones' greatest asset, his eternal youth, was also his largest flaw- his Achilles heel. Pipe knew this and delighted in his imminent victory. For what hung above them was the single most powerful force against anyone. It could rebuild cities, or level entire countries." His eyes flashed dangerously as he spun around on his heels to lock eyes with the enemy. His mesmerising gaze caused the elder boy to forget for a moment that it was all a game as he felt compelled to slowly look up to the ceiling of their playroom. "It was not Red Knives or Mama Redemption waiting to ambush the hero. No, the doom that was looming over Jones' unsuspecting head was—"

"Boys, have you seen me uniform? It seems to be…" they all froze as their father came in with his cigar hanging haphazardly out of his mouth. He looked long and hard at each of his sons; one holding a pipe, another with a wooden plank, and a third with a gnarled branch. All of their faces flushed a deep red at being caught. The tell-tale saccharine smile crossed Mr Kirkland's features and they regretted not running away immediately. His sandy blonde hair was swept back and his suit was clean pressed, creating an imposing figure in pure disappointment. "Allistor, Arthur, I thought we had this talk last week. You boys are almost adults; you need to act more mature. How will the tutor react when he gets here tomorrow and my children are acting like a bunch of…" here his voice dropped in disgust. "Dirty barbarians and thieves? Like uneducated street urchins with silly fantasies filling their heads?"

The two older boys hung their heads in shame. Arthur took his hat off and let his brother speak up for them. He was always the first to respond. "We were only trying to tire Cailean out for bed, Da. We Dint mean to upset ya. Honestly, we're sorry." Allistor defended in his thick Scottish accent.

Mr Kirkland straightened up and shook like a turkey at that remark. "You do not need to be filling your brother's head with such tales and distasteful grammar." He reproached stiffly.

"Oi, lay off. The boys dint do nothin' wrong." Interrupted another thick Gaelic voice. Their mum stepped up next to her husband in her beautiful green party dress that made her red hair shine brightly. "Let them go t'sleep before we're late for this party, deah."

He looked back at her sternly. "But Eily-" He started.

"Nay a word from ye, let's go. Ye can get them later." Mrs Kirkland smiled at the children with a wink before dragging their father out the door with a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I better see that uniform back in my closet when I get back." he called out quickly. "This is the last time these childish acts will go unpunished!" and with his final ultimatum issued, he was out of the house to his fancy business party. All adults did that on weekends. Right boring old stuff, really. Who wanted to go talk to prudish old bankers?

The boys solemnly glanced around at all their toys with a sense of impending maturity. Starting tomorrow it was all over… No pirates, no stories, no fights, no battles of good and evil. Just British history, maths, and politics.

"Wanna finish that story, Artie? For old time's sake." Allistor smiled sadly.

Arthur shook his head to reject the idea. "No, father is right. No more childishness, Allistor" Cailean looked heart broken. "Let's get to bed, alright?" Besides, it's less painful to simply give it up now. To draw out the forfeiture of childhood would only be too agonizing.

Both his older and younger brother looked at him with profound loss. Nevertheless, both boys headed to their respective beds and made no move to remove their play costuming. Their faces were pale and disappointed as they began to dress in their pyjamas. Arthur, too, felt awfully sick thinking about this grim future father had laid out for them. It was too cruel to be so easily accepted, but he had to pretend. He had to be strong in father's words in front of his unruly brothers to set an example.

He was so engrossed in his depressing thoughts that the sound of the bedroom window opening did not faze him. Even when soft footsteps fell on the carpet behind him, he did not take notice. He was simply staring at his hat as a leaf-clad boy with sparkling blue eyes and a messy mop of filthy blonde hair waltzed up behind him and put a large hand on his shoulder.

"Why do you have to grow up?"

The man framed in the window sighed heavily as he looked out his quarter's windows at the frozen gulf. His ship was iced into a rather awkward angle that he and the crew had gotten used to. The man himself was of an intimidating stature from his form one could see in the dark room. Broad shoulders were decked with an elaborate red coat and thick black boots covered large feet. The bits of hair visible around his nape were strangely ashen as if he were an old man, though he was still quite young to the eye. The hat covering the rest of his head was a matching crimson with great billowing feathers over the back to his shoulder blades. Only one hand, the left, was visible as it gently traced the window sill as if it were of value to him. His quarters held both an office to consult with his sailors and a partitioned bedroom, along with a gold accented piano and a number of book shelves filled with both volumes and mementos from past conquests. The room looked dreadfully grim and dusty at the moment and even uncharacteristically dirty with empty vodka bottles lying around, but it was usually a well-lit and immaculate room.

The island he watched off in the horizon was covered in snow. This depressed him and, vicariously, his small crew that were ambling about nervously on the desk. They had only just repaired the immense damage from the last attack from the insufferable brat of a child they were cursed with holding a long-standing feud with. The mast had to be completely rebuilt from wood they scavenged off the island called America. That had caused the crew to get shot in the behind by a pack of Savages led by the brat's boys. That was another incident that had set the crew on edge with the Captain's temper. But none of those could compare to the utter darkness that descended upon the Jolly Roger when the Captain saw the first traces of winter. Jones was nowhere to be seen but the Captain was as unstable as a hostage on the end of the plank. No one dared approach him.

Except for the young brunette first mate whom had the terrible luck of having to see him thrice a day. Mr Toris was a man with a demure expression, perfect for encountering the murderous man. In public he was only known as Mr T, a man that had to be crazy to endure all the torture he was put through on a regular basis. Yet here he was again with the Captain's dinner in hand to bring it into his quarters. The whole crew watched him enter the room each day with sincere pity.

"Captain?" Mr T called out as he shut the door behind him. He walked in with only a calculating glance at his superior before setting the trey on the large wooden desk. "Your dinner, sir."

"Thank you, T." the captain replied slowly. Both men stood there in silence for a moment. He had not dismissed his first mate, so he must have wanted to say something else. Toris simply let him take his time. Rushing the violent man would be dangerous, likely even lethal. Even he, who knew the captain better than anyone, could never tell when he was in the mood to go all the way. "T?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, captain?"

The captain shuffled uncertainly on his feet, feeling insecure in his rare moment of weakness. "Do you… Think Jones will come back soon?" he continued, keeping his Russian accent low.

_He misses him again._ Toris smiled reassuringly at the towering form. "He will bring back the Spring soon, I would think. He cannot leave his boys alone for long. They are only children, after all." Toris answered safely.

The Captain nodded his head before turning around. His other hand came into view before his face. Toris tried not to look at the metal faucet pipe in place of his captain's hand, but he was lucky to be able to mask his glances when the light reflected off it. The captain's round face came out of the shadows, showing melancholic violet orbs above a facetious smile. "T, did I not ask for you to call me Ivan when we were alone?" he grinned sweetly.

Toris jumped. "yes, Ivan. I am sorry, I had forgotten." He replied quickly.

Ivan Braginski, Captain of the Jolly Roger, the man dubbed Captain Pipe after his amputation replacement, smiled as if he were chastising a child and waved his first mate away. "Go about your duties, T. Thank you for bringing dinner."

"Yes, Ivan, sir." The Lithuanian stuttered before retreating back onto the frozen deck.

Inside, Captain Pipe turned his head to look out the frosted window once more at America. White flurries were still falling over the solidified ocean, giving no indication that winter would be letting up anytime soon. "Where are you, you dirty little shit…?" Ivan whispered with a malicious grin plastered across his pale face.

**Dmitri:**

**Just a quick 1998 word introduction to my new story, **_**Stay With Me.**_** This will be a 'don't wanna research anything' fic where I will accept crack requests. If you have not yet guessed 1. Where was your childhood? 2. Yes, this is based off of Peter Pan. Only very loosely, I want space for stupid antics to take place. Allistor and Cailean are Scotland and Ireland, if you were wondering. Alfred and Arthur are Peter and Wendy, and Ivan and Toris are Captain Hook and Mr. Smee. **

**Well, tell me how you like it! Bacon goes to all reviewers~~~~**


	2. The exception

All little boys have to grow up. Well, all except one. Alfred F. Jones had been a dissatisfied child once upon a time. He had been in the very situation the Kirkland children were in now and decided to abscond to America, the land of Freedom and Youth. There he could be whatever he wanted to be; a child, faerie, or an Indian brave. Only but a year ago he had heard the hushed words of stories uttered in bed between three boys. The second eldest, Arthur, told exciting tales of him- Alfred F. Jones, the boy who never grew up- fighting nasty pirates and going on great adventures. Alfred had grown accustomed to flying by to float by their window to listen on the stories. Sometimes when he was especially sure they weren't looking he would sit in the windowsill and watch them battle with make-believe swords and pistols. It gave him great inspiration to tell it to his boys. Maybe he improvised, adding in more of his own style but they were basically the same ones he heard here.

He enjoyed these stories so Jones was aghast when he heard Arthur say he was going to stop telling them and grow up. Without a moment's hesitation he took the little step across the large divide between them and decided to fix this- in his eyes, at least- terrible tragedy.

"Why do you have to grow up?" Alfred demanded to know in a childishly self important tone.

The magical boy expected it to be like something out of Arthur's story. His brothers were looking on in awestruck amazement and Arthur was supposed to turn around and look surprised and fall into his arms with his name like a sigh in his British accent. Instead the young man looked at him with a defensive eye and frowned. "Who the bloody hell are you and how did you get in here?" He interrogated in a flat voice that was nothing like the one he used to tell stories. Alfred immediately deflated; a look of pure indignation on his honey-coloured features. How could he not know who he was?

The unruly blonde stared at him agape and stood akimbo in total bewilderment. Alfred didn't understand that all the mature minded Arthur saw was a dirty, half naked boy wearing leaves for knickers. The fabled Jones that he was fond of spinning stories about was the last thing on his mind. "What do you mean? You know who I am!" He cried out irately. Alfred didn't know how he was not immediately recognized. "Alfred F. Jones!" He answered after Arthur just crossed his arms and glared expectantly at the strange boy in his room.

"Right." The English boy drawled in a very disbelieving tone, cocking a single bushy brow at the ridiculous claim. "Your magic act of climbing to the second story and spying on us is very clever but I suggest you kindly jump out the window and exit the establishment before I call the-"

"You're Alfred?" Caelian asked in wide-eyed adoration, rushing forth from behind the middle brother to assault the stranger before Allistor could pull him back.

Arthur's eyes narrowed in concern as he reached out to grab his little brother. "of course he isn't, Cae. He's just a loon-" He tried to correct the child before he was cut off by the boy in question.

"Of course I am! Cant you recognize me?" Alfred cheered triumphantly and patted the young boy on the back. A blinding grin lit up on the loud boy's face. He looked like he could be fifteen or so but he acted like he was Caelian's age. To Arthur, it was ridiculous. Yet he couldn't deny that this was sparking the adventure in him again. What if he was Alfred? No, he shook his head as if to clear it of those thoughts.

Caelian was doing the exact opposite. "Woah! Where's Mathieu? Is he here too?" The younger red head crowed in childish excitement. Allistor was standing next to Arthur with a matching look of suspicion.

Allistor spoke up, trying to interfere with their conversation as well. "Look, Boy-o, this I'nt Alfred. 'E's jus'a loon, like Arty sa-" but he was overrided by the blond in the same fashion Arthur had been.

"Yeah! He's here, let me call him!" Alfred grinned, turning to stick his dirty fingers in his mouth and whistle shrilly.

"You cant honestly believe in-" Arthur started again, this time he was cut off by a small shining body colliding with his lips, knocking the lower one painfully against his teeth. He made a pained noise as the thing retreated past his nose and sneered at him. Allistor's jaw dropped and Arthur stared at the Faerie in wonder. "Mathieu?" The name formed soundlessly on his lips as he took in the wavy blonde hair and tiny winged body of the person that up until a minute ago only existed in bedtime stories. The French features he had imagined were twisted in a cross look as the mute railed at him angrily a ringing voice he couldn't understand.

Arthur looked back up at the boy with new eyes when he spoke up. "Matt says not to say you don't believe. It kills them." Alfred said in a suddenly heavy tone, surprising all of them. The serious expression was ephemeral though, almost as quick as he had changed he was grinning again like a two year old. "but don't worry about him, he didn't mean the rest about you being a hoser." He assured.

Mathieu belied his words by sticking up a very inappropriate gesture before fluttering away to alight on Alfred's shoulder. "I'm sure…" Arthur frowned at the little man and turned his critical gaze to the blonde boy. "And, if you are who you say you are… How and why are you here?"

Alfred Jones' youthful face lit up with a wry grin, likely boasting over winning the stubborn teen over to his strange brand of mirthful insanity. He looked very smug to have him finally showing that he believed in him. "Its not hard to get from here to America and from America to here, Arty. All you need is adventure, hope, and freedom." He explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Arthur crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "I know the story, but why are you here?" he reiterated.

"Well," the wild looking boy started, lifting his chin defiantly to offset Arthur's harsh attitude. "I came here to listen to your stories.. but now I am here to take you to America to save you from your father." He declared proudly and stood akimbo as if he were a benevolent hero. "So you can tell stories every night and go on adventures with me 'n the boys!"

"Hah! Why would we-"

"I'm in." Arthur's brothers cut him off cheerfully.

He sent them a reprimanding glare. "No. Tomorrow we start tutoring. We have no time for silly games with wild boys who broke into our house." Turning to the pretty faced boy he frowned further. "Now, do take your leave. I'd not like to see you here again." Arthur bid with a note of finality as he turned around.

The eldest was prepared to argue with him when Alfred lept forward to take hold of the retreating Arthur and drag him towards the window. Suddenly his brothers weren't so sure of their former willingness as they watched the stubborn Englishman be thrown out the window. A scream broke from Arthur's lips as golden dust enveloped him and he crossed his arms in front of his face. He hardly had time to pray to his Protestant God above for deliverance when—someone tapped his shoulder?

"Hey, Arthur, open your eyes." A very close voice called to him.

Slowly he did as he did as he was asked. His green eyes were filled with confusion as he looked about him. He was standing next to Alfred and looking at his two awestruck brothers. "Wot?" He asked in irritation at their gaping mouths. "You look like codfish."

Calean raised a finger to point at him. "Arthur. Look down." He told him slowly.

Arthur looked down as he scowled. "This is not the time for games, I alre-" The young man stopped as he looked down at his feet dangling two stories up. His eyes widened and he frantically flailed his arms to latch onto the closest thing possible in his rationally frantic episode. "Oh dear God, I'm falling!" Arthur shouted only to have a hand put over his mouth.

The pretty blonde boy chuckled as he leaned in to look into the green eyes of the boy holding onto him in pure fear. It was plain to see in his baby blues that he was enjoying his 'heroic' moment. "Arthur, calm down. You're not falling." The intolerable blonde chuckled and pulled him into his arms. Looking up, he waved the other boys on. "Just jump, Mattie will help you. Just think powerful thoughts!" He instructed them quickly while Arthur was busy with trying to wrap his mind around the impossibility of flight.

The two brothers looked from him to each other before wide grins crossed their faces. At once the oldest reared back and closed his eyes tightly in concentration before taking off at a full on sprint to jump from the window. Then the faerie threw a bright ball of magic towards his core. For a moment he seemed to be falling before he suddenly pulled up and sliced through the air with an exhilarated howl of delight. When Calean saw Allistor's flight he clapped excitedly. "My turn!" The child cheered and screwed his eyes shut. He ran towards the window and almost tripped and fell but was caught by the magic and lifted into the air, squirming and laughing.

Proud of his handiwork, Alfred grinned and held Arthur tighter as he started struggling and cursing. "Are you ready?" He asked the boys.

"YES!" They replied heartily as Allistor scooped up the aimlessly floating kid. "Where are we going?"

"NO, put me down you, you bloody kidnapper!" The middle aged kid shouted in anger and embarrassment.

"The second star to the right and straight on 'til morning." He announced, pointing to the night sky. With a simple movement of his body they were moving through the air, Arthur's two brothers close behind. "To America!"

Dima:

1746 words. Sorry for the delay. I'm lazy and busy with Rps. Not to mention I'm studying abroad right now too but oh well. Anyways, enjoy the short update.


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